


The Secret Dom

by halcyon1993



Series: The Kinky Adventures of a Wolf and His Boy [52]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Alpha Derek Hale, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Barebacking, Body Worship, Bottom Derek Hale, Communication, Derek Hale Uses His Words, Dom Stiles Stilinski, Dom/sub, First Time Bottoming, Flogging, Hairy Derek Hale, Kink Negotiation, Kneeling, Large Cock, Leather, Love Confessions, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Post-Coital Cuddling, Restraints, Rimming, Safe Sane and Consensual, Season/Series 03, Secret Identity, Stiles Stilinski Has a Big Dick, Sub Derek Hale, Top Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2019-10-17 22:11:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17568866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyon1993/pseuds/halcyon1993
Summary: Derek discovers that Stiles is secretly a Dom for Alpha werewolves who need not to be in control for a while. Struggling himself with the pressure of being an Alpha, Derek surprises them both when he asks to become Stiles’ personal sub.





	1. The Discovery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merlin_Wolfgang_Trades_Hale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merlin_Wolfgang_Trades_Hale/gifts).



> As always with this series, don't judge me for the depravity I have written…
> 
> If anyone would like to read some of the other sub!Derek content I have to offer, feel free to check out two of my previous fics, _[The Prettiest Alpha](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15604452)_ and its sequel _[Effective Stress-Relief for a Submissive Alpha](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15999761)_. They're hot. Derek wears panties, y'all! *drools*

Dressed in a grey tank top and jeans, Derek stands by the window in his loft, lost in his own head. Stiles is talking next to him, but he doesn't hear a single word the teenager says. They're alone right now, clutching at straws to come up with a way to defeat the latest adversary to show up in Beacon Hills—a pack made up entirely of Alpha werewolves.

How are they supposed to overcome that? Just the idea of it makes taking on Peter and Gerard feel like walks in the park. No one even knows the motive for the Alpha Pack coming to Beacon Hills, but who's to say they even need one? Perhaps all they want is to sow chaos and despair before they rip the Hale Pack—such as it is—limb from limb.

"Are you even listening to me?" Stiles asks him.

Breaking from his thoughts, Derek turns his head to look at the boy. "No. I got distracted," he admits. "Sorry."

Stiles shakes his head with a smile that Derek might call fond. "It's okay. It's not like we've been getting anywhere today anyway."

"I just can't figure out anything we can really do aside from bracing for the worst."

"And that isn't a good feeling. I know."

With a sigh, Derek walks away from the window and goes to sit down on the sofa in the middle of the loft. Stiles joins him, sitting at the other end. It's too far away.

"We'll come up with a way out of this," Stiles assures him. "We always do."

"I appreciate your enthusiasm," Derek says. He wishes he possessed Stiles' confidence in their survival abilities. He should—he's the Alpha, so part of his job is supposed to be to maintain a high level of morale, but that's just one more facet of being an Alpha at which he fails completely. He'll add it to the list, along with mistreating his Betas, and not listening to them when they complained or had ideas of their own to deal with Gerard and the Kanima.

Fuck, being an Alpha is harder than he thought it would be. He doesn't know what his past self was thinking when he ripped out Peter's throat. He's not cut out for it at all.

"I know where your mind's at right now. Knock it off," Stiles orders him. He slides closer and puts a hand on Derek's shoulder. "You're doing the best you can."

"Yeah." Derek chuckles, but there's no humour in it. "That's exactly the problem. It's not good enough."

Jesus, why can't he keep his mouth shut? If someone else was there, he would be able to, but since it's just him and Stiles…

Ever since Gerard was dealt with and Derek moved out of the train station and into the loft, Stiles has been showing up more and more. Derek is about ninety-five percent sure that the teenager has developed feelings for him. Looking like he does, Derek is used to people having crushes on him, so, as ill-advised as it may be, it shouldn't be an issue. But it _is_ an issue, because Derek is very quickly feeling things for Stiles in return.

Dangerous things.

He isn't good with emotions at the best of times, and his two previous forays into romance taught him that no good can come from it. Not that he believes Stiles would hurt him like Kate did, but he was burned—he winces at his own poor choice of words—and still hasn't really recovered. Throw a serious threat to all of their lives into the mix, and Derek can't handle any of it.

Still, as much as he should—and as sure as he is that it would be better for everyone—he's found himself unable to walk away from Stiles. The boy in question currently wears a deep frown, and his enchanting, whiskey-coloured eyes are troubled. Derek can practically hear the cogs turning in his head, and it doesn't bode well for him.

"Alright, come on," Stiles says after a few moments, standing again. "Up."

Even as Derek asks why, he complies, a frown on his own face now, his born of confusion.

"Because you need a hug."

Before Derek can protest, Stiles has his arms around him. Derek stands rigidly for a few moments, in shock, until he feels Stiles' soft breaths on the side of his neck. They send shivers down his spine and are what entices him into reciprocating the hug. He lifts his arms and hesitantly wraps them around Stiles' svelte body. Never would he admit it, but Stiles was right. He _did_ need this, and he really likes it. Having Stiles in his arms feels good, but more strikingly, _him_ being in _Stiles'_ arms fills him with a sense of rightness he hasn't experienced before.

He feels at home here, safe and like he isn't being judged, and that's just further proof that his heart is running away from him at an alarming pace.

"You're a good Alpha," Stiles whispers to him, squeezing him tight.

Derek opens his mouth to refute that statement, but he doesn't get the chance because Stiles keeps talking.

"Yes, you've made some mistakes in the past," he says, rubbing a hand up and down Derek's back, "but we all have. And you're working to do better now, right?"

Derek nods jerkily.

"Then that's all that matters."

His eyes stinging, Derek scrunches them shut and buries his nose in Stiles' shoulder, breathing in the cinnamon scent of him. It goes a long way to making him feel better, and he isn't even embarrassed to let Stiles witness him being so weak.

Almost a full minute passes before Derek works up the nerve to extricate himself. Stiles gives him that fond smile again before walking in the direction of the kitchen.

"You want a drink of anything?" he asks, pausing in the doorway.

"No, I'm good," Derek replies, the words meaning more than just him saying no to a beverage.

"Okay."

Once Stiles has gone, Derek releases a long breath and looks around the main space of the loft. What should he do with himself now? The hug made being alone with Stiles seem much more intimate than it ever has before, and if he's not careful, he might end up saying more than he wants to. He wishes that someone else would show up and eliminate the possibility. He'd even take _Peter_ at this point, and he's barely been able to stomach being around his Uncle since he was revived and the stench of death started to follow him around wherever he goes.

Like they were waiting for him to make such a wish, Derek hears five heartbeats outside, their cadences unfamiliar. They get louder, and then the freight elevator in his building ascends.

"This can't be good," he murmurs.

Stiles pokes his head out of the kitchen. "What can't be good?"

"Stay in there!" Derek barks at him.

"But—"

"Just do it! And don't come out for anything."

Stiles' eyes widen as he picks up on how serious the situation is. Derek is glad when the boy actually listens to him for once, leaving him to face the threat by himself.

The time it takes for the freight elevator to reach his floor is torturous. Derek moves around to the front of the coffee table with his arms crossed over his chest, aiming to project strength and show that he won't be intimidated by the Alpha Pack turning up unannounced at his home.

When the heartbeats are right on the other side of his door, the anxiety Derek is hiding rises. Since he can hear them, they'll be able to hear him—and Stiles too. It's that realisation that almost breaks his stolid mask, but he recalls what Stiles told him just a few minutes before. He still doesn't really see himself as a capable Alpha—or even a passable one—but Stiles does, and Stiles' belief in him means more than his own ever could. It increases his mettle. He just hopes that it'll be enough to get both himself and Stiles out of this with their lives, because it's obvious to him that whatever the Alpha Pack is here for can't be good.

Ten tense seconds later, the door slides open and the Alpha Pack pour inside.

First come twin teenage boys who look far too baby-faced to be tied up in all of this, but Derek knows that appearances can be deceiving.

Next comes a man with buzzed-short hair and so many muscles that they make Derek feel inferior.

And, last but not least, a man with sunglasses covering his eyes is escorted inside by a woman with long dark hair and bare feet. Derek is stunned by the revelation that the leader of the Alpha Pack is blind, but that evidently doesn't stop him. Power emanates from every pore.

"Derek Hale," the man greets, his tone deceptively friendly. "How nice to finally meet face-to-face. My name is Deucalion, but you can call me Duke."

"What do you want?" Derek demands, cutting straight to the chase.

"Not even a hello?"

"No."

"How disappointing. I was hoping that—"

Derek arches one eyebrow when Deucalion abruptly cuts himself off. The older Alpha turns his head slightly to the right, in the direction of the kitchen.

Looking that way himself, Derek's heartbeat picks up when he sees that Stiles has disobeyed him. The teenager is right out in the open, but strangely, he doesn't look scared. Either Stiles is much better at acting than Derek gave him credit for, or he isn't scared at all. In fact, the Stiles in front of Derek now is nothing like the one he knows. There's no twitchiness in his body and no openness in his countenance. Everything that Derek would've said made Stiles _Stiles_ is gone, and replacing it is cool severity, a sternness that has Derek's cock taking an interest in his jeans.

What the hell?

"Duke, huh?" Stiles says, his gaze hard and unflinching.

If someone asked him, Derek would say that Deucalion actually looks flustered.

"I…I…" said Alpha stammers, drawing the eyes of his lackeys. As if feeling them, he pulls himself up to his full height and speaks again. "We'll be leaving now."

"Good," Stiles says shortly.

"What? Why?!" the female Alpha questions. As pleased as he is, Derek would like to know why too.

"I said we're leaving!" Deucalion shouts at her.

The female Alpha snaps her mouth shut and guides Deucalion back toward the entrance. The other three Alphas follow, the twins looking curiously at Stiles before they're gone.

Derek remains gobsmacked and motionless until the sound of their heartbeats has faded. "What just happened?" he wonders aloud.

"No idea," Stiles says, his heartbeat faltering in his chest. His demeanour returns to what Derek is used to. "But I think I'm gonna go too."

Before Derek can ask why or for him to stay, Stiles is out the door like he can't get out of there fast enough. He doesn't even wait for the freight elevator to come back up after the Alpha Pack took it down, taking the stairs instead. It's like he has something to hide, and honestly, after the hug they shared just a few minutes ago, it feels a bit like a slap in the face to Derek. But the sting of that is nothing compared to the bafflement he feels because of Deucalion's reaction to Stiles.

Why did the other Alpha change his tune as soon as Stiles came out of the kitchen?

What would he have to fear from a human boy, especially one with no wolfsbane, mistletoe or mountain ash on his person?

It makes no sense, and from the expressions on the rest of the Alpha Pack's faces, they didn't get why Stiles' appearance had Deucalion forcing them to make a speedy egress either.

Derek's instincts are screaming at him that there's some correlation between Stiles' and Deucalion's exits, but he can't for the life of him figure out what it is. What he _can_ figure out, though, is that the only way he's going to get clarity is to talk to Stiles.

* * *

Stiles goes straight back to his house after leaving the loft. His Dad isn't home and won't be until much later, so he feels comfortable scrolling to the contact in his phone that's simply named 'Duke'. He sends a text informing him to use the front door when he arrives, because there's no doubt in Stiles' mind that Deucalion will show up soon. When that happens, he's going to have a thing or two to say to him about whatever he was planning to do to his friends.

Just as Stiles is getting impatient, he hears a knock on the door. He gets up to answer it and finds Deucalion on the doorstep. The Alpha is alone, and the red glow behind his sunglasses indicates that he can see at the moment.

"Inside," Stiles orders him, sinking into the role he created for himself.

Deucalion scurries swiftly past him, totally different from the persona he presented back at the loft. He's almost meek.

Once the front door is shut again, Stiles turns to Deucalion and commands him to kneel, his voice sharp like a whip. He's satisfied when Deucalion immediately sinks to the floor, his head bowed and his hands clasped behind his ramrod-straight back, the perfect pose and posture that Stiles taught him shortly after Deucalion first got into contact with him a few months ago.

"So," Stiles says, cocking his hip to one side and crossing his arms over his chest, "d'you wanna explain to me just what you're doing in Beacon Hills?"

"Sir…" Deucalion says quietly.

"I'm waiting. I don't need to remind you of the punishment for disobedience, do I?"

The Alpha shakes his head. "No, Sir. I'm sorry."

"So tell me. What were you and your Alpha friends planning?"

Stiles becomes more and more horrified as Deucalion informs him of the Alpha Pack's intentions. He's so glad that he was in the loft that afternoon and preempted any violence and the ultimatum that Deucalion would have given Derek. Trying to make Derek kill all of his Betas for their power and then join up with the Alpha Pack…how could Deucalion think that the Hale Pack Alpha would _ever_ go for that? Or that Stiles would let him? Not in a million years.

"What were you thinking?" he spits, incensed.

"I didn't know…"

"You didn't know _what_?"

"That you were in his pack, Sir. You never said."

"This is a professional relationship, so my personal life is none of your business. Besides, even if I wasn't friends with Derek, what you were planning wouldn't be okay."

Deucalion's lips thin but he doesn't defend his actions.

"Here's what's going to happen next," Stiles says. "You and your buddies are all going to leave Beacon Hills without hurting anyone. You'll never come back, and you'll stop trying to build your so-called perfect pack of Alphas. No more murder. Got it?"

The werewolf doesn't accept these terms right away. "If I'm going to do that," he says instead, his voice tentative, "then I want something in return. Sir."

Stiles grows suspicious. "What?"

Deucalion raises his head and blood-red eyes stare up into honey. "One last session. Please, I…I need it."

"Done," Stiles agrees immediately.

"Now?"

"Not a chance. I don't do that here. I'll text you a place and time. Be there."

"Yes, Sir."

"Now get out of my house."

* * *

That evening, Derek is more confused than ever.

Earlier, he got to the Stilinski residence just in time to see Deucalion leaving the premises with his metaphorical tail between his legs. His first thought was that the older Alpha had done something bad to Stiles, and he'd run the rest of the way to the house and barged in the front door with his claws and fangs at the ready. But all he found was Stiles staring at him bewilderedly. He asked what Deucalion was doing there, and the mystery got even stranger when Stiles acted all evasive.

So now here Derek is, driving a short distance behind Stiles' Jeep to find out what he's up to. It can't be anything good if it involves Deucalion. Maybe Stiles is being blackmailed.

When the teenager leads him to an old abandoned house on the outskirts of town, Derek pulls over to the side of the road and makes the rest of the journey on foot. Stiles' Jeep is parked right outside the dilapidated building, and next to it is another vehicle that Derek doesn't recognise. He has his suspicions as to its owner, though, and those suspicions are proven to be correct when he sneaks up to the house and peeks in through one of the windows.

Stiles is inside what was once a living room, and he's with Deucalion. The other Alpha will likely have already sensed Derek's presence, but he doesn't show it yet. His attention is solely focused on Stiles as the boy picks up a duffel bag he must have brought with him and walks into another room, out of sight. Once Stiles is gone, Deucalion's head turns toward the window Derek is spying through, and the expression on his face is odd. It's like he's boastful about whatever Derek is seeing but humiliated to have a witness to it at the same time.

Very odd indeed.

"Alright," comes Stiles' voice, just before he reenters the room. "It's time."

Derek's eyes nearly bug out of their sockets when he sees the boy. Stiles is shirtless, his pale skin and the lithe muscles of his torso on display, and instead of the jeans or chinos he usually favours, Stiles wears a pair of leather trousers and boots.

"What the fuck?" Derek mouths. He's flabbergasted when Deucalion actually listens as Stiles commands him to strip off his shirt too, face one of the walls and put his hands on it.

Derek must be hallucinating. That's the only plausible explanation, because there's no way that what he's seeing is real.

What follows is even more craziness. Derek has of course heard of BDSM and domination and submission. New York has a thriving nightlife, and even though he was never interested in attending any of those sorts of clubs himself, he'd heard tales and whisperings from a select few people whenever Laura managed to drag him out for a night on the town.

Derek's mind races as he watches what Stiles does to Deucalion. The certainty in Stiles' moves makes it clear that this isn't his first rodeo. Not even close. Derek would never have thought the teenager had it in him to be so dominant, but it explains the unfamiliar look he'd seen on Stiles' face back in the loft.

To Derek's surprise, he wants Stiles to look at _him_ like that.

As he observes Stiles expertly turning the skin of Deucalion's back red with a flogger, the black leather tendrils making soft thumping sounds as they strike solid flesh, he finds himself wanting to be in Deucalion's place. His cock is hard and leaking in his jeans and his breathing has picked up speed. God, does he ever want Stiles to do that to him, and that's all he can take before he has to duck out.

Turning tail, Derek flees.

* * *

The next day, Derek is tired because he tossed and turned all night. He couldn't get the idea of submitting to Stiles out of his head, no matter what he did.

How would it feel?

How would it even work, what with him technically holding a position of power over Stiles as the Alpha?

How did Stiles get into being a Dom?

How did he meet Deucalion?

How long has Deucalion been submitting to him?

Derek has so many questions, and again he comes to the conclusion that the only way to get answers is to actually talk to Stiles. His plan to do so last night was forgotten in his shock, but he had enough time to ruminate over it overnight and has attained footing steady enough that he should be able to ask the questions he needs to ask without spontaneously combusting.

Fuck, it's going to be difficult, though. Derek worries his bottom lip between his teeth as he dresses himself in a forest-green henley and a pair of black jeans. With one last look at his loft, he grabs his car keys, leaves the building, gets in his Camaro and drives over to Stiles' house. The driveway is only occupied by Stiles' Jeep, which is good because Derek would really rather the Sheriff not be in the house for the conversation he's about to initiate. He's also grateful that it's summer and Stiles doesn't have school—he wouldn't be able to wait any longer to get the answers he craves.

After getting out of his car, Derek uses his ears to discern that Stiles is currently upstairs in his bedroom. He climbs up the side of the house to his window and knocks on the glass.

Stiles appears quicker than Derek thought he would. "Hey, Sourwolf," he says as he opens the window. He steps back to allow Derek to come inside. "What's up? Please tell me there's no new threat in town."

Derek shakes his head and stands awkwardly by the window as Stiles exhales slowly and moves over to his bed. The boy throws himself down on it, his head just missing the pillows.

"So, if you're not here to warn me or get me to do research, why _are_ you here?" Stiles asks him, putting a hand behind his head to prop it up. "Not that I'm not happy to see you, 'cause I am. I'm always happy to see you. I'm just curious."

Again, Derek is amazed by the difference in Stiles' two personas. He briefly wonders which is real and which is an act before deciding that they're both equally real. It's just that one of them is only required in very specific situations.

"Derek?"

Jerking his head up, Derek's cheeks redden because he's been standing there like an idiot for who knows how long. "Uh, what was the question again?"

"I asked you why you're here," Stiles repeats, looking concerned for him.

"Oh. Right. Well…I have a confession to make."

This gets Stiles to sit up and pay better attention. "I'm listening."

Derek attempts for a few seconds to figure out a good way to begin. He settles on just coming straight out with it. "I saw you last night," he confesses. "With Deucalion."

Stiles' eyebrows climb high on his forehead. "Oh. That wasn't what I was expecting."

"You were…you were making him submit to you," Derek continues, calling on the bravery he used to combat each of the foes his pack has faced since he came back to Beacon Hills. To him, to speak now is a battle just as tough as all of them combined. "Did that have something to do with why he left in a hurry after he saw you at the loft?"

"Alright, we're really doing this," Stiles mumbles to himself. He shakes himself and gets up off of his bed, putting them on equal footing. He meets Derek's gaze. "Yes, it had everything to do with that."

"Why?"

"For a while now, Deucalion has been one of my clients," Stiles apprises. "You want the full story?"

Derek nods, sure that his entire being radiates bemusement. "I think that'd help, yeah."

He struggles to understand when Stiles explains to him how he got started in his secret career as a Dom, and he stops trying when Stiles reveals to him that he currently has about three regular clients, all gained by word of mouth in the werewolf community. He meets them all at different locations for their sessions, and they pay him handsomely. Apparently, the pressures of being an Alpha can be a lot for his clients to bear, and every now and then they need respite from it, for someone else to take the reins so they don't have to think at all. Stiles gives that to them.

Derek swallows tightly. "And you said that Deucalion is one of your…clients?"

"Yeah. Or well, he was." Stiles scoffs. "He's not anymore, not after that stunt he tried to pull yesterday. Last night was our last session, and I didn't take any money for it. I did get _something_ important out of it, though. Something better."

"Do I even want to know?"

"It's how I got him to leave town. I worked him over hard, and now he won't bother us again, not if he knows what's good for him."

"How can you be sure he won't come back?"

Stiles hums. "I can't, I guess—not a hundred percent—but I think I left enough of an impression on him that he won't go against me. Trust me when I say that I'm very good at getting inside the heads of my clients. That's part of what makes me such a good Dom. Plus, while I would normally never even think of breaking a client's trust like this, there _was_ the threat that I would expose his submissive tendencies to his flunkies if he tried to renege on our deal."

"This is lot to wrap my head around," Derek says. He searches blindly for the desk chair behind him and sits down.

"This doesn't change anything between us, does it?" Stiles enquires, folding one arm across his torso in a show of self-consciousness. "I'd hate it if it did."

Part of Derek, the cowardly part, wants to reassure Stiles that it doesn't have to change anything at all. They can just go on as if this discussion never happened, never mentioning Stiles' extracurricular activities again. He's sorely tempted to do just that, his cowardice almost winning the silent war inside his head, but then he remembers how close he'd been to losing his shit the previous afternoon when his responsibilities almost became too much. Sure, the threat of the Alpha Pack has allegedly been taken care of now, but Derek still feels overwhelmed by the position of power he gave himself. What Stiles said about letting go and letting someone else make the decisions and issue the commands for a while…it sounds like heaven.

And if there was ever someone Derek was going to allow himself to be that vulnerable with, it would be Stiles. It seems perfect.

There's just one problem—he doesn't want to pay for it.

He doesn't want it to be just a business transaction between the two of them. He cares about Stiles too much for that, and he knows that if that's all the teenager was willing to give him, he'd take it, but it would gradually destroy him inside.

"Oh God, I've ruined things between us, haven't I?" Stiles frets, running a hand through his hair.

"No, you haven't," Derek answers. "But…"

Stiles watches him warily. "But?"

"Would you…" _Come on, be brave. You've got this,_ Derek affirms to himself. "Would you be interested in doing that with me?"

Stiles stares. Then he stares some more, like Derek has broken him. "What?" he says eventually, lowering his arm back to his side. "You want me to dominate you?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure you really know what you're asking for?"

Derek shakes his head. "I guess I don't entirely because, before seeing what I saw last night, I'd never even considered being in that position. But I want to find out what it's like. I think it might be something I need."

"Huh," Stiles says, obviously processing Derek's proposal. He takes a step closer to him. "If I said yes, how would you see our arrangement looking? It wouldn't feel right to take money from you."

"In an ideal world, it would be… _more_ …than what you've got with your clients," Derek responds, going for total transparency. It's the only way he can possibly get exactly what he desires. "I wouldn't be just another client to you."

Stiles takes another step. "So what would you be, then?"

Derek takes a deep breath. "I'd be yours."

A third step. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Unless I've been reading the signs wrong this whole time," Derek says, curling his hands so tightly around the arms of the desk chair that his knuckles turn white, "you like me. As more than a friend."

"You haven't been reading the signs wrong," Stiles confirms. "Not at all. I _do_ like you. A lot. If we're both being honest with each other here, I've probably liked you for longer than I care to admit, even to myself. I don't know what it says about me, but I think it started all the way back when you were kind of a jackass to everyone."

Derek feels such exquisite relief that he can't help but laugh briefly. "Me too."

Stiles smiles. "I suspected as much."

"Really? Why did you never say anything?"

"Because I know what happened to you in the past, with Kate and with Paige. I wanted to leave things at your pace."

Derek breezes past the reminders of his two tragic old flames. "So what d'you say?"

Stiles holds up a finger. "Just to be absolutely clear: you want me all the way? As a boyfriend, including dates, kissing, sex, the whole shebang?"

Derek nods. "If that's okay with you."

"And you still want to submit to me?"

"I do."

"How?"

Derek tilts his head to the side. "I don't understand."

"As far as the actual submission goes, do you want an arrangement similar to what I have with my clients, where I'd just help take some of the weight off of your shoulders when you need it and things would be completely non-sexual?"

Derek's response to this question is an easy, "No."

"So when we do scenes, you'd be okay with me introducing sexual things into them?"

"More than okay."

"And—final question—do you see it as just something we do occasionally in the bedroom, or every time, or as a 24/7 arrangement?"

Derek digs claws he hadn't realised had come out into the plastic of Stiles' chair. "I'll have to see how it goes, but, for now, the first option sounds good."

Stiles paces back and forth for a while. Derek lets him think it over, knowing that it's a lot to ask, even with the truth of their feelings for each other out in the open now. This knowledge doesn't make it easy, though. He needs an answer now.

Luckily, Stiles doesn't make him wait _too_ long. He quits pacing and faces Derek again. "Yes. Yes to everything," he says earnestly.

Derek holds his breath. "Really?"

"Yup." Stiles' mouth stretches into a wide grin. "I want to date you, and I want to be your Dom. I _really_ wanna be your Dom, actually. The thought of you submitting to me is actually hot as fuck."

"Oh thank God…"

All the tension in Derek's body vanishes in an instant, and he can't resist leaping up from the desk chair and closing the rest of the distance between himself and Stiles. He curls a hand around the back of Stiles' neck and crashes their mouths together. The kiss is intense at first, both of them releasing pent-up emotions, but it soon becomes something calmer and more tender. It's the best kiss Derek has ever had, purely because it's with Stiles.

"You're really mine?" the boy whispers against his lips, having trouble believing that this is actually happening.

Derek can relate. "I'm yours," he whispers back, pecking Stiles on the lips one last time before backing off. Stiles' grin is still there, like he can't get rid of it. It makes Derek feel all tingly inside.

"Before we actually do anything, we'll need to go over some stuff," Stiles says. "But I think that can wait for now."

Derek nods his acceptance. "Okay."

"Are you hungry?" Stiles asks him, apropos of nothing.

Derek checks in with his body. "I guess I could eat. Why?"

"Because I was thinking of taking you on our first date now, if that's okay with you."

It's Derek's turn to grin. "That's more than okay."

He trails after Stiles as the boy exits the bedroom, leads the way down to the ground floor and slips on his shoes in the foyer. Stiles talks the whole way, even when they're walking outside to Derek's Camaro, offering suggestions of places they can go to eat and even other things they can do after their stomachs are full. Derek listens and chips in whenever Stiles stops long enough to give him a chance, but mostly he's just content to let his new partner babble.

This day turned out so much better than he expected, and he can't wait to find out what's in store next.


	2. The Contract

After his first date with Stiles, Derek feels happier than he has in a long time. He never would have thought when they first met that he'd enjoy the boy's company so much, but he did, and as he goes through his morning ablutions, he can't wait to do it all over again. Everything with Stiles just felt so…comfortable. That's the only word for it. Derek thought that, if he ever dipped his toe back into the dating game, it would be awkward and he'd hate it. He was sure that he'd be alone for the rest of his life, with just his band of misfit Betas for company.

That isn't his outlook anymore, and it's all thanks to one loudmouthed teenage boy.

Who'd have thought?

After he gets dressed in a pair of dark jeans and his favourite henley—red, with a deep V-neck—Derek grabs his keys and leaves the loft. He's supposed to meet up with Stiles again so that they can discuss some of the more important things about their relationship. Namely, what's going to happen whenever Derek feels the need to submit. The concept is still alien to him, but he has enough trust for Stiles that he's sure Stiles won't steer him wrong.

All Derek has to do is be open-minded and honest.

The drive to the Stilinski residence is quick. The Sheriff is working yet again, so Stiles' Jeep is the only vehicle in the driveway. Derek parks his Camaro on the street, gets out and approaches the front door. He could use Stiles' bedroom window like yesterday, but he can hear that Stiles is downstairs in the living room today, so the door is faster. Raising his fist, he knocks a couple times and then waits patiently as Stiles shuffles around in the house and soft footsteps get closer.

A few seconds later, the door swings inward and Stiles beckons him inside. "Right on time, Sourwolf," the teenager observes.

"I like to be punctual."

"A very good quality to have in an Alpha." Stiles winks. "And in a sub."

Derek rolls his eyes.

"Anyway, c'mon. We can talk in the living room. Have you had breakfast yet?"

Following Stiles, Derek says no and takes a seat on the sofa. Some TV programme he doesn't recognise plays quietly on the TV.

"D'you want anything?" Stiles asks him. "I can make pancakes or something."

Derek is about to say no again, but then his stomach rumbles. "Pancakes do sound good," he admits. "You're sure you wouldn't mind?"

Stiles grins. "Not one bit. Pancakes coming right up. You just keep that sexy butt parked right there. You can change the channel if you want. I wasn't really watching that anyway."

While Stiles bustles about in the kitchen, Derek does as the teen suggested and picks up the TV remote from the coffee table. He lazily channel surfs with no real intent, just flicking through the channels until something catches his eye. Eventually, just as the smell of the first pancake reaches his nostrils, he happens upon an old rerun of _Friends_. He never really paid much attention to the show himself, but it was his younger sister Cora's favourite sitcom. She had it on often before the fire, and he remembers liking it well enough whenever he was around at the same time.

Settling on that, Derek slumps against the back of the sofa, making himself comfortable. His stomach makes noise again when he scents bacon in the air too.

"Butter or syrup?" Stiles calls through from the kitchen a few minutes later.

Derek requests the latter, and then Stiles comes back into the living room with a tray held in both hands. He sets it down on Derek's lap.

"Bon appétit!" he says happily, sitting down on the cushion to Derek's right.

The werewolf salivates as he looks down at the spread Stiles prepared for him—a high stack of perfectly fluffy-looking pancakes on a plate, a bottle of Aunt Jemima syrup lying next to it, another plate of crispy bacon, and a small bowl of blueberries and cut-up strawberries.

"Looks great," Derek compliments. He picks up the syrup and squirts a modest amount on top of the pancakes.

"Just wait 'til you taste it," Stiles says smugly. "I don't get the chance to cook as much as I'd like, but the first time I made them for Scott when he slept over once a few years ago, he moaned so loud I thought he was having an orgasm."

Derek shudders. "Thanks for that image. Just what I needed when I'm eating."

Stiles laughs, entirely unrepentant.

Picking up the knife and fork that are also on the tray, Derek cuts into the stack and takes his first bite. As he chews, his eyes widen.

"Good, right?" Stiles asks, noting his reaction. "It's okay, you can say it—I'm the pancake king."

Schooling his features again, Derek snorts and concentrates on swallowing. While he doesn't say so, he thinks that Stiles is right to be so boastful of his cooking ability, at least when it comes to pancakes.

" _Friends_ , huh?" Stiles says, turning his attention to the TV. "Didn't take you for a fan."

"I'm not, really," Derek answers between bites.

"Well, I'm not complaining. I've seen the whole series I don't even know how many times and it never gets old."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"Because you know that I had practically no life before Peter bit Scott and I got tangled up in all these crazy supernatural shenanigans?"

"Yup. That must be it."

"Thought so."

Both males go silent, just watching the characters' adventures on the TV screen while Derek eats his breakfast. He leaves the fruit for last, and then he sets the tray on the coffee table, grabs the remote once more and switches off the TV. "Thanks for the pancakes—they really were good—but now I think it's time for us to have that talk you mentioned yesterday."

Stiles hums. "Sure. I didn't wanna get into it then because it was our first date and I didn't want it to get too serious, but there's still some stuff we need to work out if I'm really gonna dominate you."

Derek is a mixture of wary, curious and excited. "Like what?"

"Wait here. I'm gonna go grab my laptop," Stiles says, leaping up from the sofa. He vanishes upstairs and then returns with the device under his arm. He puts it on his lap, flips up the screen and types in his password to unlock it. Once everything is booted up, he clicks the trackpad a few times and opens both the web browser and a Word document that has a bunch of small black text already written on the digital page.

"What's that?" Derek enquires, sliding closer until their thighs touch.

"Research you should read, and a contract."

This baffles Derek. "A contract?"

"Yup. There are different types, but this is a template for a Dom and their personal submissive. It's one that this other Dom on a forum I'm a part of posted for others to build on if they wanted. I've never had a reason to use it before because, as you already know, I've only been a Dom in a professional setting until you."

"That cleared up nothing," Derek says.

Stiles turns the computer slightly so that Derek can better see the screen. He slowly scrolls through the pages of the document and explains briefly what it all means. "Basically, it outlines everything that both parties expect from their Dom/sub relationship—wants and needs, limits, both soft and hard, safewords, names they'd like to be called when doing a scene…all that good stuff. It's different for every couple, and I think ours will be particularly unique since you're a werewolf and some of the fetishes and kinks and stuff on here will have to be adjusted or added to because of that."

Derek still feels lost, but he doesn't let that worry him. "Sounds complicated."

"I guess it can look that way for someone new to the scene."

Derek is stunned when Stiles scrolls further down the document and he gets a look at just how many fetishes are listed. "That's, uh…long."

"Well, there're a whole lot of kinks out there."

"Right."

"Anyway, don't worry about the contract itself for now. First, I want you to go through the bookmarks I made when I got home last night. They should help you come to terms with things."

Derek doesn't protest when Stiles clicks back to the web browser and slides the computer across to his lap instead. Stiles pats his shoulder, says that he's going to go do the washing up while Derek reads, and then Derek is left on his own. The Alpha definitely feels in over his head, but he still really wants to know what it would be like to submit to Stiles, if it lives up to what he pictures in his head.

He gets started.

* * *

Sometime later, Derek is left reeling by everything Stiles bookmarked for him. There's so much stuff—a brief history of BDSM and the different ways people have participated in it over the years; the most common practises; even testimonies from real Doms and subs, in which they explain how they got into the scene and how it helps them. Derek finds himself relating to a couple of the submissive testimonies in particular. One is the CEO of a big company, the other a cop, and their reasons for wanting to submit are very similar to why Derek thinks he's drawn to it.

The CEO gets very stressed being in charge of something so big, while the cop finds having people's lives in their hands incredibly taxing. Both find some much-needed catharsis in submitting, in letting someone else be in charge of everything from time to time. While Derek doesn't know what either of those scenarios are like, he _does_ feel overwhelmed quite often being the Hale Pack Alpha. It's a lot of responsibility, and reading about real-life people who experience similar desires makes him feel validated.

That's probably the whole reason Stiles bookmarked the testimonies—because he knew Derek would need that.

It's proof that he's in good hands.

By the time Derek finishes with the final bookmark, almost a full hour has gone by. He finally looks away from the computer screen and finds Stiles sitting next to him again with a book open in his lap. Derek was so distracted with the research that he didn't even notice his soon-to-be Dom coming back into the living room.

"You finished?" Stiles asks him, feeling his gaze.

"Yeah," Derek replies.

Stiles uses a piece of plain paper as a bookmark and puts his book on the arm of the sofa. He turns his whole body to face Derek. "What did you think?"

"It's a lot to sort through."

"D'you need a minute to do that before we talk?"

Derek shakes his head slowly and sets Stiles' laptop aside. "No, it's fine. Like I said, it's a lot, but mostly everything just reaffirmed to me that this is what I want."

"To submit?"

"Yeah."

Stiles smiles. "I was hoping you'd say that."

Derek makes a questioning noise, prompting Stiles to go on.

"Well, even though our date went great and you said you wanted me to be your Dom before, I was scared that reading more into it would make you change your mind," the boy confides. "I would've accepted it because I still would've loved to be in a relationship with you even without the whole Dom/sub thing, but I'm glad that's not the case. I guess that means that all that's left is to go through the contract, if you're up to it right now."

"I am," Derek assents.

"Then let's get started. This is probably gonna take a while."

* * *

Stiles is right. In the end, it takes them so long that, by the time they're near the end, it's almost lunchtime.

They agree that various kinky stuff can be included in the bedroom whenever they want, but actual scenes will only take place when either party wants them to or believes they're needed. During those scenes, Stiles will only be referred to as Sir, but he'll get to call Derek whatever he wants, as long as it's not derogatory.

Hard limits are easy—anything involving bodily fluids that aren't semen are out, as is humiliation, blood and knife play, exhibitionism, voyeurism, and anything that will cause extreme amounts of pain. A lot of the fetishes are left undecided because Derek hasn't ever done them and can't guess whether or not he'll actually enjoy them. They leave those fields blank and agree that they'll amend the contract as needed once they've tested the fetishes out at some point in the future.

"Now, sexual positions," Stiles says. "First, I have to ask: am I the first guy you've ever been with?"

"Yes," Derek answers.

"No experience at all? Maybe some experimentation that never went anywhere?"

"No. I've only had sex with women, and I'd only kissed women before you."

Stiles notes that on the contract. "And have you ever bottomed or done any anal play?"

"No."

"Are you interested in that?"

Derek hums, and his hole clenches at the mere suggestion. "I never used to be, but now? I think I am."

"And would you also be okay with topping during a scene?"

"I…yeah, but I'm going to be the one submitting. Is that even possible?"

This gets Stiles to look away from the computer screen. "You think that you submitting means you'd only bottom?"

"Yeah, or at least that's what I thought," Derek says. "Your reaction is making me think that I just said something wrong, though."

"That's an annoyingly popular misconception. It's possible to still have all the control while you're getting fucked, Sourwolf. If you never wanted to bottom or let me anywhere near your ass, I'm confident enough in my abilities that I know I could still dominate you when sex is involved."

Derek blinks, surprised. He's embarrassed that he never thought of it that way before. "Oh."

"There's also the misconception that a man liking a dick up his ass makes him somehow less than, that it invalidates his masculinity," Stiles goes on. "There's so much wrong with that, I can't even. Hell, I'm sure if you got some of the men who look down on guys who enjoy bottoming and tried to stick something up _their_ asses, they wouldn't be able to handle it. I actually think it takes a lot of strength to take a dick like a champ."

Derek just nods along. It's yet more stuff that he has never thought about. He supposes he's never had a reason to before, but it makes sense now.

"And another thing—you submitting to me doesn't make you a failure as a man or as an Alpha."

Derek averts his gaze, his deeply buried insecurities ripped open with that simple sentence. "Stiles…"

"No, I need you to look at me for this," the human says. He gently grips Derek's stubbly chin and turns his head back to face him. "Are you listening?"

Derek swallows tightly. "Yes," he chokes out.

"You submitting to me doesn't make you weak or a bad Alpha or anything like that. I'd never judge you like that. _Everyone_ needs help from time to time, and you already know that there are other Alphas out there who occasionally need the pressure of their duties to be taken from them. Okay?"

Derek doesn't believe it entirely, but it's obvious that Stiles does. That's enough for now. "Okay," he echoes.

"Good." Stiles pecks Derek on the lips and sits back again. "I think that's enough of the heavy stuff. Let's move on."

Derek shoves his insecurities back down—out of sight, out of mind, and all that.

"So, during scenes," Stiles continues when he sees that Derek is prepared, "if it turns out that you like anal play, you'd be fine with both bottoming and topping?"

"Yes," Derek says with conviction.

"Awesome. I've been wanting to tap that ass since the day we met. Alright, next…"

Once the last section has been completed, Stiles prints out the contract and both of them put their signatures in their designated places. Then he puts the pages in a nondescript manila folder. "There," he says, smoothing his hands over the cover. "Everything's set."

"What now?"

"Now we go on as if nothing's different about our relationship until the right mood strikes," Stiles answers. "We keep going on dates and getting to know each other better."

"And what do we tell the others when they find out? Because with their noses, they're gonna smell us on each other at some point and put two and two together."

"Do you think we should tell them before that can happen, so it's on our terms?"

Derek thinks it over for a moment. "I do. I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea."

"Yeah, that would be bad."

"I…I don't want them to know about…y'know."

"That you're gonna submit to me?"

"Yeah."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Stiles reminds him, putting a hand on Derek's thigh.

"I'm not ashamed, or at least I don't want to be. I just couldn't put up with all the teasing and jokes that would inevitably happen."

"No one would make fun of you for it."

Derek gives Stiles a flat look. "Have you _met_ Erica?"

Stiles opens his mouth but obviously can't think of anything to say in the blonde's defence. "Yeah, I guess you're right," he concedes. "Let's put it this way instead, then—I wouldn't _let_ anyone make fun of you for it, but if it makes you more comfortable, we'll keep the BDSM aspect of us a secret. The crux of the whole thing is consent, after all, and you submitting to me is supposed to make you feel better, not worse. I have no problem with that."

Derek is relieved. "Thank you."

Stiles smiles at him softly, making Derek's heart flutter. "You're welcome, Sourwolf."


	3. The Reveal

Derek sits on one of the sofas in his loft and tries to read a book, but he's been stuck on the same page for God only knows how long because he can't stop worrying about what's going to happen when his pack begins arriving soon. He and Stiles had agreed after signing their contract last week that tonight would be the night they'd tell the pack that they're now an item, and Derek is concerned about the reactions such news is going to receive. He probably shouldn't be—it's highly likely that the majority of his Betas won't give a damn either way—but it's basically in his nature by now.

Especially seeing as Scott's opinion means a lot to Stiles, and it's common knowledge in the pack that Derek and Scott don't like each other very much.

After trying to read for another few minutes, Derek gives up, tosses the book onto the coffee table in front of him and leans his head over the back of the sofa. He puts his arm over his eyes and the other over his stomach, his jeans and grey henley feeling too tight on him. Or is that his skin? Whatever it is, it's uncomfortable as shit. He takes deep, even breaths to quell the unease that seems to have taken up residence in him lately. It's not that effective, but luckily, that's when he hears Stiles' Jeep in the distance, the sound of the engine distinct from the rest of the pack's vehicles.

Or maybe Derek is just so attuned to everything _Stiles_ that he knows instinctively.

Whatever. It doesn't matter.

Getting to his feet with a groan, Derek checks the time and sees that the rest of the pack should get here soon too. He's glad that Stiles is first.

After waiting for the freight elevator to bring Stiles up to his floor, Derek meets him at the door. "Hey," he greets, making an effort to keep how he's feeling out of his voice. He must fail, because Stiles' bright grin turns into a frown.

The teenager shuts the door and steps closer. As usual, he's got on a flannel shirt and a pair of chinos; purple, this time. "What's wrong? You look like you're gonna be sick."

Derek swallows tightly. Damnit. "I do?"

"Yeah."

Derek follows like a lost puppy when Stiles takes his hand and leads him back over to the sofas. Sitting side by side, he gives up his nonchalant act. "It's just…"

"We don't have to do this tonight if you're not ready yet," Stiles interjects, already so good at reading Derek that his first suspicion is right on the money.

"No, I want to," Derek insists. "It's just…about Scott. He might not take it that well."

Stiles hums. "True, but you just let me handle him, alright? Don't worry your pretty little head about it."

"Stiles."

The human appraises Derek for a moment with his thinking face on, and then he shuffles even closer so that their thighs are pressed together. "I wanna try something, so don't freak out, okay?"

Derek's eyes widen slightly and he gives a slow nod, his trust for Stiles outweighing how unsure he is.

Stiles raises his hand and brings it to Derek's neck. Derek's first instinct is to lean away from the touch, the Alpha in him insisting that he shouldn't let anyone that close to such a vulnerable part of his body. He fights this instinct and stays sitting still as a statue. It's tough at first, but it gets easier when Stiles curls his hand around the back of his neck instead of the front and squeezes it lightly. For some reason, all of the tension immediately bleeds out of Derek's body, and he finds himself sagging sideways slightly, toward the boy next to him.

"Does that help?" Stiles enquires curiously, increasing the pressure.

Derek shudders and his lips part on a shaky breath. His eyelids droop and his inner Alpha quiets down. "What's…what's going on?"

"It's supposed to help ground you," Stiles explains, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the side of Derek's neck. "It's basically like I'm reassuring you with touch that everything's okay, and if it's not, I'm here to take care of it so you still don't have to worry."

Derek's unease quietens too. "I think it's working."

"Yup, looks like it." Stiles is silent for a few seconds, and then he speaks again. "It's proof to me that you've definitely got a submissive side."

Derek raises his gaze to find a small smile on Stiles' lips. It helps, has him not thinking badly of himself for giving over control because Stiles obviously doesn't see it as bad. "I guess I do."

"Cool, right?"

"Yeah."

Derek is insanely grateful that Stiles came slightly earlier and was able to help him calm down. He's also amazed Stiles was able to do it so quickly and efficiently, but then he remembers that Stiles has a lot of experience making Alpha werewolves feel all sorts of things and it becomes a bit less surprising. It's no less amazing, though, and Derek relishes the attention and the feeling of rightness Stiles' hand on his neck gives him.

Then, he finally detects more noise outside. It's very close, so he must have lost himself in his calmness to the point where he didn't hear his packs' approaching vehicles until they were right outside of the building.

"They're here," Derek says, disappointment immediately filling him when Stiles takes his hand away.

"It's alright, Sourwolf," Stiles coos, kissing him chastely. "I'm still right here."

"Right."

Derek feels stupid for being so needy. It's not like him, but he makes a valiant effort not to sink down into the feelings of inadequacy that usually assail him in times like these. Stiles wouldn't like that.

"Can you tell who it is?" Stiles asks, creating a bit of distance between himself and Derek so it's not quite so obvious there's something going on between them.

Derek blinks, coming back to himself. The nervousness is still there, pumping through his veins, but it's not so intense anymore. He listens to the loud voices downstairs. "I hear Erica, Isaac, Lydia and Jackson, so it's safe to assume that Boyd and Danny are here too. They usually arrive together."

"No Scott or Allison yet, then?"

"Not yet."

Stiles gives a short chuckle. "Scott's terminally late, so I guess we should've expected that."

A minute later, the door opens again and the Betas, Lydia and Danny all pour inside in a hurricane.

"Hey, Alpha-man!" Erica greets with a grin on her red-painted lips.

She flips her blonde hair back over the shoulder of her leather jacket as she saunters over to the sofa to Derek's left. Her inappropriately tight leather skirt rides up her bare thighs as she flops down on it, but she doesn't seem to care that she's almost flashing the rest of the pack her underwear until Boyd sits down next to her—much more calmly, to Derek's approval—and she's forced to sit up properly so that she can situate herself beneath his arm.

Opposite Erica and Boyd, Lydia and Jackson take seats in a similar fashion to Boyd, both of them eying Erica as if they can't believe she could be so uncouth.

 _They should be used to it by now,_ Derek muses, resisting a sigh.

Last to install themselves on the sofas are Isaac and Danny, and to Derek's dismay—or maybe pleasure—they select the same sofa as himself and Stiles. This forces Stiles to move close to him again so they can all fit, and Derek ends up squashed in the corner with the boy practically sitting in his lap. He makes a concerted effort not to react in any way, positively or negatively, in hopes of precluding anyone from guessing what's going on between him and Stiles before everybody's here and they can tell them directly. That was the whole point of this meeting, after all.

But, unfortunately, from the way Lydia is watching him and Stiles, it might already be too late for that. At least she doesn't say anything.

"Where the hell's McCall?" Jackson sneers, as supercilious as ever.

Erica smirks at him. "Why the rush, Jackie-boy?"

"Don't call me that."

"But I like it." Erica sends a blink-and-you'll-miss-it wink at Stiles before returning her attention to Jackson. "It's cute."

"It doesn't suit me. I am _not_. _Cute_."

Lydia has to put a hand on Jackson's shoulder to prevent him from getting up. She does it without looking away from the phone she now has in her other hand, like she has to do this all the time for her irascible boyfriend. She probably does.

"But that's what makes it so funny!" Erica tells Jackson, entirely unrepentant. "Riling you up is one of my favourite pastimes."

"Knock it off, Erica," Derek commands, flashing his eyes red at her. Better to nip this in the bud before she can rile Jackson up any further and cause him to erupt. That's never fun, and it always ends with Derek getting a headache.

Erica pouts as she sinks further into Boyd's side. "Ugh, you're all no fun."

For the next ten minutes it takes for Scott to finally pull up on his bike outside, Derek listens closely as his pack talks amongst themselves. When it's like this, it's actually pretty nice, tensions nonexistent and laughter filling up a space that usually feels so cold and empty of life. Derek can actually enjoy it, doesn't have to do anything or feel like he's got the whole world resting on his shoulders for once. There's no longer any urgency, not since the Alpha Pack was sent packing by Stiles.

His pack is whole and for the most part happy, each of them coupled up, and Derek wishes it could be like this all the time.

"Fucking finally!" an impatient Jackson says, throwing up his hands as the sound of Scott's bike reaches all the Betas' ears. When Scott and Allison are up inside the loft, Jackson turns his nose up at them. "About damn time, McCall."

"Uh, sorry?" Scott responds, leading Allison over to the sofa on which Erica and Boyd sit. "We got…distracted."

Erica waggles her eyebrows, her eyes gleaming knowingly. "Oh, I bet you did."

Before any more discussion of his pack's sexual exploits can make Derek wish he was deaf, he rises from his seat, walks around the coffee table so that he's facing them all and addresses the group at large.

"This seems serious," Danny says, sitting forward. He links his fingers with Isaac's.

"Yeah, you've got your constipated frowny face on," Erica adds. "What's going on? I thought the Alpha Pack left town? Are they back?"

Before there can be mass panic, Derek holds up a hand to prevent further questions and allays his pack's concerns. "No, they're still gone and should stay that way," Derek apprises them, and what follows is a sense of relief so palpable that Derek can almost feel it himself.

Isaac cocks his head to the side. "Then what _is_ going on?"

"I'm looking forward to your answer, Derek," Lydia says as she crosses one leg over the other. She wears the ghost of a smile.

 _Yeah, she already knows,_ Derek thinks, mildly annoyed.

How did he get stuck with two pack members who possess inhuman levels of perception and perspicacity? Stiles is fine, mainly because he's on Derek's side and uses his skills to protect the pack and keep them all safe. Lydia, though? She's always been a wild card in Derek's eyes. He can never say what she'll do with her seemingly endless wealth of knowledge, and that's a scary thing.

Briefly, Derek's eyes meet Stiles', and Stiles silently communicates to him, checking if he needs or wants help. With an imperceptible nod, he accepts the offer, and then Stiles is by his side, standing shoulder to shoulder with him in a united front.

"Wait a minute…" Erica murmurs, apparently catching on.

Scott wears a confused frown, an expression that's not uncommon for him. "What?"

Instead of saying the words aloud, Derek chooses to reveal the progression in his relationship with Stiles by grabbing Stiles' hand in one of his. The teenager's grip is tight for a moment, revealing that he was nervous about this too, and then he relaxes it as realisation slowly dawns over the rest of the pack, all of their gazes drawn to Derek and Stiles' joined hands.

"Oh, fuck yes!" Erica cries, leaping from her seat to pounce on Stiles. His physical connection to Derek is the only thing that saves Erica from toppling the boy.

"Erica— Can't breathe!" Stiles complains, patting her back awkwardly with his free hand.

"Sorry." The blonde pulls back. "It's just…it's about damn time! The amount of UST between you two was getting ridiculous."

"UST?" Derek croaks, already knowing he'll regret it.

"Unresolved sexual tension," Erica replies before sitting back down. "Keep up, Alpha-man."

Yup, he regrets it.

"She has a point," Lydia says, examining her nails like it's no big deal. "If it had gone on any longer, I might've resorted to the locking-you-in-a-closet-until-you-sorted-your-shit-out trick."

Did everyone know? Or at least suspect?

Derek surveys his pack of misfits and determines that almost none of them were oblivious. He thought he did a good job of hiding his affection for Stiles, but apparently he was wrong.

The only one who looks like he didn't know anything is Scott, who stares inscrutably at him and Stiles. As more congratulations are given to the new couple, Scott's countenance becomes more and more severe, the approval of the rest of the pack apparently not sitting well with him, just like Derek feared.

"Stiles? Can we talk outside?" Scott asks, his tone even and calm. A front. He marches over to Stiles and rips him away from Derek before Derek even think of preventing him.

Derek growls lowly and is about to snatch Stiles back, because how dare Scott touch what isn't his? But then he catches Stiles' eye, and the eighteen-year-old reassures him with just a look that everything's fine. Stiles _did_ say to let him handle Scott's reaction, so Derek remains where he is as the beta drags Stiles out of the loft and slides the metal door shut behind them so hard that it nearly brings down the wall.

"Well, who didn't see that one coming?" Isaac snarks.

After that, silence reigns as everyone listens in on what's being said on the other side of the door.

* * *

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?!" Scott hisses under his breath, only releasing Stiles' arm when they're near the freight elevator.

"Scott, it's okay," Stiles says placatingly, rubbing where his friend gripped him a bit too tightly.

"It really fucking isn't!" Scott narrows his eyes at Stiles, equal parts scathing and disappointed. "Derek? _Derek_? Really, Stiles?"

 _Damn, he's really swearing up a storm today,_ Stiles thinks, unsurprised. He knew this would happen.

It's no secret that Derek and Scott have never got along very well. In the beginning, Stiles was on Scott's side. Derek was cold and relentless in his pursuit to find the person who killed his sister, while also keeping Scott from doing anything stupid. Stiles wouldn't have blamed him if that's all he was; he understood what it was like to lose someone you loved, and to have that person murdered instead of dying of natural causes must've made Derek's grief even worse, galvanising him into anger. But the way Derek went about doing things…he was rude, brash and came off as incredibly arrogant.

But then things changed. They had to rely on each other more to stay alive, and Stiles began to see the man that Derek hid behind his attitude.

The man who was filled with guilt and self-loathing, who'd been hurt badly and was trying to protect himself.

Ever since, Stiles has been gradually defecting over to Derek's side of the conflict. Derek grew, got less hostile and even started to take his Betas' opinions into account when making decisions, which he never used to before. In short, he became a better Alpha and a much nicer person to be around.

That he's the sexiest man on the planet helped a lot, too.

Scott, however, _didn't_ grow. He remained entrenched in his sanctimonious belief that he was right, and Derek was wrong. That Derek was the bad guy and had been all along. Lately, he's been better at not expressing his misguided beliefs, keeping them to himself and being as civil with Derek as it's possible to be, but that's apparently over. Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose as his best friend goes on and on and _on_ about how he's making a mistake, that Derek doesn't deserve him.

"What were you thinking?!" Scott seethes, pacing back and forth now. "Did he force you into this? I bet he did, didn't he?"

When Scott attempts to walk past him, probably intending to go back inside the loft and give Derek a piece of his mind—or maybe even start a fight—Stiles repays the favour by grabbing Scott's arm this time. If the Beta really wanted to, he'd have no trouble yanking himself out of Stiles' grip, and Stiles wouldn't be able to stop him from carrying out whatever foolish intentions he has. Fortunately, Scott stops, allowing Stiles to keep him out in the hallway instead.

"Scott, just wait a minute," Stiles entreaties

"What?" Scott demands. "What can you _possibly_ say that'll convince me you don't have brain damage or you're not being blackmailed?"

Stiles honestly doesn't know. If he hasn't got through to Scott by now, can anything he says in this moment make a difference? He doubts it, but he has to try.

"I just really like him," Stiles says. "A lot."

"That's crap. What's there to like?"

Okay, that's the last straw.

If he and Scott were trying to resolve this giant mess in private, he wouldn't have as much of an issue with Scott's attitude. He'd still think him wrong for it, but at least it would only be Stiles himself hearing it. But right now, he's very much aware that Derek is hearing everything he and Scott are saying. Derek just heard every single one of Scott's vituperative remarks, and that won't fly.

"Oh, I dunno," Stiles says sardonically, crossing his arms over his chest. "It _could_ be that he's actually a really nice guy now that he doesn't have people trying to kill him purely for what he was born as. It _could_ be that he's fucking gorgeous. It _could_ be that he's the one responsible for putting all of us together in this weird makeshift family, giving _both of us_ more than one friend. It _could_ be that he's had the patience to put up with you all this time, when it's always been obvious that you don't like him. All of those sound like damn good reasons to me."

"I don't—" Scott tries, but Stiles bulldozes over him.

"I'm tired of this Scott. I love you. You know I do. We've always called ourselves brothers and that hasn't changed." Stiles runs his hands through his hair frustratedly. "But I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this. You should just hear me say that I like Derek and that I'm happy with him and have that be enough for you.

"But apparently it's not. Is it?"

The sadness in those last two words must finally break through to Scott. The outrage fades from his face and is replaced by shock. "Stiles…"

"Wouldn't your life be much better if you just let go of your hate?" Stiles asks. "If everyone around you doesn't see what you do, maybe it's _you_ who's in the wrong. Did you ever consider that?"

"N-no," Scott concedes, bowing his head. All of his bluster is gone.

"Maybe you should, then." Stiles puts his hands on Scott's shoulders and shakes him gently. "Holding grudges isn't good for you."

"I guess…maybe."

"Look. Let's just put all of this behind us for good, okay? If you can do that, you'll see that everything I just said about Derek was true. This might sound manipulative, but if you value our friendship, you will."

Scott is still a bit resistant and likely will be for a while yet, but at least he seems to finally be coming around. It's good enough for Stiles.

Mostly. There's just one thing left.

"Now, let's go back in the loft," he says, already leading Scott toward the door, "and you can apologise for trash-talking your Alpha basically in front of everyone."

Scott groans but doesn't stop walking until they're in the loft again and Stiles has him in front of Derek, who still stands by the table. He mustn't have moved at all while Stiles and Scott were gone.

"Scott, isn't there something you'd like to say?" Stiles says. He's talking to his best friend like he's a misbehaving child. It seems appropriate to him.

* * *

Derek would be lying if he said a petty, vindictive part of him wasn't amused by this scenario, by how thoroughly chastised and raw Scott is right now. It's a welcome change from hearing such scorn come from the Beta's lips, something that was made so much worse by the rest of his pack being around to hear it along with him. Derek resisted glancing at any one of them, his gaze laser-focused on the metal door like the world would end if he looked away from it for even a second. The only good part about it was that he could sense his pack's disgust on his behalf—even Allison's—and this strengthened his belief that, should a schism happen, they'd all pick him.

To know without a doubt that Stiles too would pick him over his best friend since childhood…it means more than Derek could possibly say.

Stiles' voice carries an obvious warning. "We're all waiting, Scott."

Another few seconds pass, and then…

"I'm sorry."

The apology is given so quietly that Derek would've missed it had he not the enhanced hearing of a werewolf.

"For what, Scott?" he prompts.

After squaring his shoulders, Scott looks Derek dead in the eye, and Derek is impressed that there's only minor impudence in his mien. "I'm sorry for what I said out there," he clarifies. "It was wrong of me."

It's not exactly glowing, but Derek will take what he can get if it means smoothing this all over swiftly. "Apology accepted," he says. "Just don't do it again."

"Or you'll have me to deal with," Stiles tacks on, the worst threat of them all.

Stepping aside, Derek permits Scott to return to the sofa next to Allison, who rubs his thigh comfortingly.

With the Beta out of the way, Derek sits back down too, and Stiles soon joins him, placing his arm along the back of the sofa so that it's behind Derek's shoulders. It's a possessive action, like Stiles is ensuring everyone present knows that Derek belongs to him. It makes Derek feel all tingly inside.

"Gotta say I'm impressed, Stilinski," Jackson says, doing the same thing with Lydia. "Didn't think you'd actually stand up to McCall like that."

"Yeah, well." Stiles shrugs as if it was no big deal. "I've gotta protect my man, haven't I?"

Derek feels blood rush in both directions, to his face and his cock. It's impossible that his Betas won't notice the former, but he prays they won't scent the latter.

That would be mortifying.

"Now that that bullshit's out of the way, what do we do now?" Isaac queries. "Or did you really call us all here just to tell us you two are boning?"

Derek and Stiles send the tall Beta matching glares which have absolutely no effect.

"What?" Isaac says impenitently. "It was an honest question."

"I guess I can order pizza and we can watch a movie or something," Derek suggests. "If that's okay with everyone."

There's a chorus of yeses and cheers.

Derek winces in sympathy for his poor wallet. He's not hurting for money, not at all, but feeding a pack of ravenous Betas on a regular basis is pretty expensive.

After a few minutes in which everyone bickers about what to order, Derek makes the call, and then there's more chaos as his pack votes on which movie to put on. Derek himself stays out of it, as does Stiles.

"You okay?" the human whispers to him while the rest are distracted.

Derek nods and gives him a private smile. "Yeah. I am."

He means it.


	4. The Proposal

Derek can't say what's different when he wakes up in the empty loft the following morning. He's not irrationally angry, sad or anything like that. There's just something…off about his temperament. He lies in his bed and stares at the ceiling high above him, pondering what could be wrong without finding much success. This leads to frustration, which he latches on to because it's an easier emotion to deal with than whatever he was feeling before. Still, that _something_ remains, taking the form of a quiet voice in the back of his mind that won't shut up, even when he turns over onto his side and folds the pillow around the back of his head, covering both ears.

Grumbling quietly to himself, Derek gives up after a minute and flings back his sheets. Getting to his feet, he stands next to his bed and stretches his arms over his head like he does every morning, twisting his torso from side to side at the same time to wake up his muscles. Once that's done, he figures he might as well get on with his day.

"First, a shower," he murmurs, dragging his bare feet across the cool concrete floor. He doesn't bother getting a change of clothes first.

In the bathroom now, Derek switches on the shower and waits for the water to heat up in the rig he managed to set up himself. It's a bit ramshackle, but it serves its purpose, and Derek doesn't need anything better. If he did, he could afford it, but being out in the loft, away from the majority of people in Beacon Hills, both seems safer to him and means he doesn't have to channel as much of his energy into blocking out all the noise around him. His family had their house in the preserve for the same reason.

Derek can't imagine living right in the thick of things again, like he did after Laura dragged both of them to New York. He hated it back then but stayed for his sister. Even when he spent a week hiding out in Stiles' bedroom after Scott blamed him for Peter's attack on the high school, it was difficult, the sounds coming from the other houses in the neighbourhood bombarding him nonstop if he didn't make the concerted effort to block them out.

He shudders at the memories.

Once the water is at a sufficient temperature, Derek pushes down his boxer-briefs and steps beneath the spray. He leans his forehead against the wall and stays there for a while, unmoving, his eyes closed, just letting the water hit his shoulders and sluice down the rest of his body. It's nice, makes him feel a bit better. He still doesn't feel all that great, but now that he's actually doing something, not just lying in bed getting lost in his own head, it's like the voice has become slightly quieter. It bothers him less, and this enables him to go about his morning ablutions as usual.

Clean now, Derek switches off the water, dries himself off with a towel that's on the counter a few feet away and reenters the main area of the loft to get dressed.

He scratches his short nails through the trail of hair running down his abs as he walks, and then he selects an outfit for the day. He doesn't really care much about how he looks anymore, so he chooses the first articles of clothing he finds and ends up in a pair of worn, dark-blue jeans and a white T-shirt that's also seen better days. There are a few holes along the seam on the left side and the neck is stretched so that more of his chest is displayed than the design of the shirt intended, but again, Derek doesn't give a damn.

The holes will be covered by his leather jacket anyway.

A short perusal of his kitchen cupboards and fridge reveals little in the way of sustenance. Seems like a trip to the grocery store is first on the agenda today.

Great.

Derek sighs. He hates going there. He hates showing his face anywhere with a lot of people around, if he's honest with himself. Gossip travels fast and the memories of the public are stupidly good, so most know who he is.

Derek Hale, the man whose family died in one of the worst tragedies Beacon Hills has ever known, eclipsed only by Matt Daehler's massacre at the Sheriff's Station.

Derek Hale, the man who was accused of murdering his own sister.

Derek Hale, the man who, thanks to Scott, was blamed for Peter's terrorisation of the high school and the murder of a school janitor.

Derek Hale, the perpetually glowering pariah who it's unsafe to be around.

Things aren't quite as bad as they used to be, thanks both to the passage of time and his relationships with his pack, but there are still invasive stares that make his skin crawl. Today, he can already tell he's going to be more affected than he usually is. He'd like to bare his fangs and growl at the nosy people to get them to leave him the fuck alone, but of course, that's not possible. Not unless he wants to expose the entirety of his pack, which he obviously can't do. His job is to protect them, as shitty as he is at it.

Thinking that he might as well get it over with, Derek shrugs on his jacket, grabs his phone and keys and marches out of the loft.

* * *

As Derek was anticipating, as soon as he parks his Camaro in the lot outside of the grocery store and gets out, the staring and whispering begins. He walks toward the entrance, getting a shopping cart along the way, and a mother even goes so far as to do a U-turn and shepherd her young children in the opposite direction. Derek clenches his jaw and makes sure to keep his face blank, knowing it would only worsen the situation if people saw his frustration.

He stalks through the aisles gripping the handle of his cart so hard that he expects to leave indentations of his fingers behind.

It wouldn't be the first time.

The upside of his less-than-stellar reputation is that, aside from the stares and whispers, everyone leaves him alone. He's never been a gregarious man, and he's grown less fond of people as the years have gone on and he's only been hurt more and more, so there's at least one good thing to come out of all of this. Derek finds it easier to shop if he focuses on this, and before he knows it, he's reaching the end of the list he wrote on his phone just before he left the parking lot outside of his loft—good thing too, because his cart is basically full. Many more items and it would overflow.

Wanting to get out of there as fast as possible so he can wallow back in the privacy of his loft, Derek speeds things up. But as he turns into the next aisle to get eggs, a familiar scent hits him, and he looks up to spot Stiles at the other end of the aisle, unaware.

He almost chokes on his own saliva when he swallows.

How should he play this? He's glad to see the teenager—always is nowadays—but he'd prefer if Stiles didn't know about the shitty day he's having for seemingly no reason. He'll have to pretend to be his usual self.

Steeling himself, Derek grabs the eggs he needs and continues down the aisle until his cart is right next to Stiles'.

"Oh, sorry! I'll just get out of your way," the boy says, reaching for his own cart. When he sees that it's Derek next to him, he relaxes and gives the Alpha a grin so bright that it's like looking into the sun. "Oh, hey!"

"Hi," Derek responds, offering only a half-smile because his lips don't cooperate fully.

Stiles' expression turns funny, but it's gone again before Derek can decipher it. He chuckles when he sees the amount of food in Derek's cart. "Stocking up?"

"Uh, yeah…"

"The Betas really eat a lot, don't they?" Stiles says.

"Yeah."

"I swear you guys all have black holes for stomachs, which gets me thinking." Stiles purses his lips and taps his index finger against his chin. "You pay for it all, right? Just like you paid for the pizza yesterday."

Not seeing where Stiles is going with this, all Derek can do is say, "Yeah," for a third time and feel like a broken record.

"That doesn't really seem fair to me."

"It doesn't?"

"No, and I think I might have a solution, if you wanna hear it."

Stiles' face is now so eager that Derek can't possibly say no. "Sure."

"There should be some sort of pack fund or whatever, something that members of the pack put money into, and that pays for things like the food they eat when they're hanging at the loft," Stiles suggests.

Derek blinks, dumbfounded. "But…I'm the Alpha."

"Yeah, but like I said, it's unfair that you should always pay for everything."

"I can afford it—"

"But you shouldn't _have_ to," Stiles bulldozes on, though not unkindly. "Look, if this is none of my business and you're really fine continuing with how things are, then tell me to shut up and I'll drop it, but I think you should reconsider how things are done in the pack as far as expenses go. It's just that one of my clients told me about how they run things in their pack one time, and seeing your cart so packed like this with what must be a couple hundred dollars' worth reminded me of that."

Derek is glad they're speaking quietly, and that no one else is in the aisle to overhear them. "I don't know…"

"Well, take some time to think about it, then," Stiles says, giving him another grin.

"Sure."

"Are you almost done? 'Cause if you're not, you can use the rest of the space in my cart," Stiles offers graciously.

"Nah, it's fine. I've just got bread left."

"And you left it 'til last so it wouldn't get squished under the rest of it, right? Smart." Stiles nods his approval and pushes his cart in the direction of the aisle with the bread.

All Derek can do is follow him, the unrest he's felt since waking up slowly dissipating the rest of the way. He ponders if it's just because he's in Stiles' presence—which…who'd have thought? Just a few months ago, something like that would've seemed unthinkable, both of them annoying each other to no end.

How times change.

"Alrighty, what's your preference?" Stiles asks when they reach their destination.

"These." Derek picks up a loaf each of white and wholegrain, knowing that different members of his pack prefer different things.

"C'mon, then. I'm basically done too, so we can check out together."

"Sure."

Like a dog trailing after its master, Derek follows Stiles to the checkouts and isn't at all surprised when Stiles keeps up a high level of chatter the whole time. Currently, he talks about the new insults his lacrosse coach has recently taken to hurling at the team. Derek hums and grunts his acknowledgement in all the right places, but otherwise he doesn't speak, is just content to listen. He barely even notices the odd looks they get from the other people around them—from the woman at their checkout especially. They must wonder about him and the Sheriff's kid being so friendly. It's probable that it will get back to the Sheriff himself somehow, helped along by some nosy do-gooder who believes Derek is bad news and Stiles is getting into trouble by being around him.

Well, fuck them.

Derek keeps all of his focus on the teenager next to him, blocking out the murmur of gossiping voices, the low hum of the florescent lighting overhead, the incessant beeping of the dozen or so checkouts as hundreds of items are scanned and money exchanges hands. Stiles' voice is all that fills his ears.

Eventually, after they've both paid for their respective purchases, Derek walks with Stiles out to the parking lot.

"I'm over there," Stiles says, pointing to the corner of the lot.

Derek is disappointed because he doesn't want to part ways just yet. "I'm on the other side."

"Can you come sit with me when you've got everything loaded in?" Stiles requests, reaching out to squeeze Derek's forearm.

"Why?"

 _Damn it, don't question it!_ Derek chastises himself. _Don't you_ want _to spend more time with him? You might make him change his mind!_

"I just wanna talk a bit more about something," Stiles responds with a reassuring smile. "Okay?"

Exhaling slowly through his nose, Derek nods. "Okay."

"Good. See you in a minute, Sourwolf."

With that, Stiles salutes him and sets off to the corner of the lot, the wheels of his cart rattling across the ground.

As Derek watches him, a hint of dread begins to creep up the back of his neck, making the short hairs there stand on end. He fights it off because it's a stupid emotion to be feeling right now—Stiles won't want to talk about anything bad or give him some bad news, like maybe calling their whole arrangement off or something equally ludicrous. No, it's simply because of the headspace Derek has been in since he woke up earlier, his mind leading him down paths that it wouldn't on an ordinary day, trying to make him see things that aren't there.

Almost smacking himself, Derek turns in the other direction and heads to his own vehicle. It's a tight squeeze to get all of his groceries into the Camaro, but with some careful organising that would have even the most elite of Tetris players feeling jealous of his skills, Derek puts the last bag inside and makes sure the car is locked before he walks to where Stiles said he'd parked his Jeep. It would be hard to miss the big sky-blue 4x4, so Derek finds it easily and sees Stiles waiting in the driver's seat.

"Hey," the boy greets as Derek climbs into the passenger side.

"Hey."

"So, I bet you're confused about why I asked you to come here, right?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

There it is again, the expression on Stiles' face that Derek couldn't figure out just after they bumped into each other back in the store. It stays this time, and it makes Derek feel like he's under a microscope.

It's an unpleasant sensation.

"I just wanted to talk where no one else could hear us," Stiles explains, turning sideways so that his side is to the back of his seat and his knee is folded in front of him. "Probably should've done this with all the talk about the pack as well, but whatever. To get right to it: I noticed that you were kinda…off."

Tensing up, Derek prevaricates at first. "What d'you mean?"

Stiles smiles as if he knows exactly what Derek is doing—and with how easily Stiles has always been able to read him, he probably does. "You're not really a talker most of the time, but you were quieter than normal, and every now and then you got this look on your face that worried me. I guess I just wanted to make sure everything's okay, 'cause I got the impression that it wasn't."

Derek exhales slowly through his nose. It wouldn't be any use to continue his evasive act, so he tells the truth of how he felt when he woke up.

"That sucks," Stiles says sympathetically. He reaches across, puts a hand on Derek's thigh and leaves it there.

It's still odd to Derek to have someone touch him so freely. He hasn't had that since Laura was killed, and even then, he would go out of his way to avoid any form of physical affection from her. With Stiles, he doesn't mind it. "Basically. It happens every now and then, but I'll be fine," he swears.

"It happens to me too, sometimes," Stiles confides.

This surprises Derek, because he's never seen Stiles as anything other than sunny and chipper or annoyed at him. He doesn't think being scared for your life really counts in this scenario. "It does?"

"Yup. Good ol' depression, everyone's best friend," Stiles jokes, though it falls flat. "It was much worse when I was younger. It actually got pretty bad after my mom died, but then my Dad finally stopped drowning his grief at the bottom of whiskey bottles and helped get me sorted out, and it's better now. Still there, especially if I'm stressed out about something, but it's better. It wouldn't exactly be the most shocking thing to me if you felt something similar, what with everything bad that's happened to you in your life."

Derek sits there silently for a minute, and Stiles lets him, his hand an ever-present comfort on his thigh. "I've never really thought about it, but I guess that makes sense," he concedes when he's done processing.

"And I doubt there's much you could really do about it, either," Stiles says sadly, squeezing Derek's leg. "You can't exactly go talk to a random therapist because you wouldn't really be able to get down to the crux of your traumas without giving the supernatural game away. And then there's your whole wolfy healing thing. Antidepressants would probably have no effect unless you downed the whole prescription in one go, which…yeah, let's not risk that."

"You've given this a lot of thought," Derek observes, having neither a positive nor a negative opinion of it.

"Hey, mental health's important, especially for guys like you."

Derek blinks. "Guys like me? What does _that_ mean?"

"I mean big, obviously masculine guys who society always says should bottle up their emotions because 'boys don't cry'," Stiles says, making air quotes with his other hand. His tone is full of derision, revealing what he thinks of that belief. "I dunno if you've bought into that whole piece of bullshit, but even if you've never really thought about it consciously, I'd bet good money that it's there. Hell, _I_ think that way sometimes, even when I don't want to. That reminds me: I had this class the year my mom died. I can't remember how it came up, but we got to talking about parents, and obviously that was a sore subject for me. So, naturally, I broke down crying, and there were a lot of people in that room who judged or made fun of me for that, even though they all knew the reason."

"That sounds awful," Derek says, his eyes wide. "Kids can be…"

"Jackasses, yeah. I could be a little jackass too. I still am sometimes." Stiles chuckles. "I'm sure you've been on the receiving end of that a few times since we met."

Derek inclines his head. "Maybe."

"Anyway, I guess the whole point of me bringing any of this up is to make sure you know you can talk to me about this stuff if you want to," Stiles concludes, countenance open and honest. "Maybe there really _is_ some sort of supernatural therapist out there somewhere that I don't know about, and maybe we could ask Deaton about it sometime. But until then—or if it turns out that's not the case—I think just talking about it with _someone_ might help get rid of a least a bit of the weight you're carrying. Even if I can't understand, I can give you a proverbial shoulder to cry on—or a real one, if you want. It's totally up to you, though. It's not a condition of us being a thing or of the Dom/sub arrangement we're gonna start soon. S'that sound good?"

Derek has never been that great when it comes to talking about his feelings, and just telling Stiles that day in his loft about his struggles to be a decent Alpha to his Betas was taxing on him. The idea of delving into the demons he's been holding on to all these years is even more daunting, and Derek isn't sure if he could ever do it.

But it's nice to know that the option is there.

"Thanks," is all he can say, neither accepting nor turning down Stiles' offer.

"Anytime, Sourwolf."

They share a significant look, and then Stiles moves on:

"Speaking of me dominating you, how would you feel about me coming over to the loft this evening?" the boy asks. "That's something that might also help you, especially seeing as you're feeling a bit crappy today."

Derek frowns, nerves creeping in. "What would we do?"

"We'd have our first scene, but we'd start off slow. I'm not gonna throw you right into the deep end."

His lips forming a tight line, Derek contemplates it. He signed up for this, and he doesn't want to back out, but he'd say his nervousness is warranted.

"If it's not a good idea yet, then just say so," Stiles prompts him, obviously sensing Derek's anxiety. "I won't be offended or anything."

"I know. It's just…a lot."

"I get that. It was a lot when I first got into being a Dom."

"This evening, right?"

"Right. Like I said, we'd start slow, nothing too intense, and if you wanted to stop at any point, you'd just have to use one of your handy-dandy safewords."

 _Fuck it,_ Derek thinks.

"Okay, you can come," he accepts, praying he doesn't come to regret it. Stiles won't judge him, but…he'll judge himself if it goes poorly.

Stiles grins yet again. "Alright, then. I should get back home and make sure I've got everything ready."

Reaching for the door handle, Derek prepares to take his leave. "Sure."

"Try not to worry too much," Stiles says. "I know it's probably a lost cause, but I promise that, whatever happens, it'll be okay."

"If you say so."

"I do." Stiles puffs out his thin chest. "And I'm your boyfriend _and_ Dom, so you _have_ to listen to me."

Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, Derek opens the passenger door and is about to get out, but before he can, Stiles grabs his wrist and pulls him back down, his butt hitting the seat again.

"Wait a second!" the teenager says with a pout. "Don't I get a goodbye kiss?"

Derek's mood has improved enough with the talk they just had that he teases Stiles with an unenthusiastic, "I guess."

"Asshole," Stiles grumbles, exaggerating his pout even further before dropping the act.

Derek goes willingly when Stiles cups the side of his face with his hand, the human's thumb stroking across his cheekbone. His eyes close of their own volition when Stiles kisses him, and he moans softly after he parts his lips and gets a taste of Stiles' mouth. He doesn't attempt to lead the kiss, leaving it all to Stiles.

It reminds him of the first few kisses he shared with Kate Argent, as much as he never wants to think about her. Back then, he was inexperienced and she wasn't, so she did most of the leading whenever they did anything together. Usually, whenever Kate's name appears in his head, Derek feels disgusted and uncomfortable, and he expects this time to be no different. He expects not to enjoy Stiles controlling the kiss because of the unfortunate connection his mind has made, but that's not the case. Stiles leading things isn't bad.

All it does is make him feel cared for.

When the kiss ends, Stiles pulls away with a dopey smile. Derek is sure his own expression is much the same.

"I don't think I'll ever get tired of that," Stiles says.

"Of what?"

"Of actually being able to touch you. I wanted to do it for a long time, even when I didn't really like you very much."

Derek snorts. "Same."

"Anyway, I'll let you go this time." Stiles turns his head to peer out the rear windshield. "People are gonna start wondering what we're doing in here if we sit here much longer."

"You've got a point."

"Duh. I've always got a point."

With a short goodbye and a dorky wave from Stiles, Derek exits the Jeep and ventures back across the parking lot to his Camaro, his chest lighter.


	5. The First Scene

After leaving the grocery store, Stiles spends the majority of the rest of his day figuring out what he's going to do when he arrives at Derek's loft that evening. There are so many different forms that domination can take, and it's his job to figure out which one would best suit his Sourwolf and then adjust accordingly if he's wrong. But he'd rather not be wrong, is the thing. As unattainable a desire as it may be, he'd like this to be perfect right from the start. He fears that, should he do something that Derek doesn't like, Derek will call the whole thing off. It would be his right, and Stiles would accept it, but he truly believes that submitting will greatly help the Alpha deal with his problems and emotions, and he really wants to give him that.

Thus, Stiles has to make sure it goes as well as it possibly could.

No easy feat.

Stiles is grateful that his Dad isn't home right now. He doesn't have to be quiet as he takes out the trunk that sits at the back of his closet and rifles through it for potential things to use tonight. He's acquired quite the collection of gear since he started doing this for other Alphas, wanting to be prepared for whatever their needs were so he could meet them and they'd keep coming back. The reasons were twofold:

Firstly, Stiles genuinely wanted to help make their jobs easier. It always fills him with satisfaction when a client leaves a session seeming lighter.

Secondly, Stiles wanted them to keep coming back so they'd keep paying. A much more selfish reason, yes, but hey, he'd like to actually progress to making a living out of this.

"What to use…" he murmurs to himself.

It takes Stiles about half an hour to come to a conclusion and gather all the necessary things. He can't say for sure, but instinct tells him that Derek will benefit from a more gentle form of domination that's based on praise. He doesn't think anyone's really told Derek he's done a good job of anything since he came back to Beacon Hills, and possibly even before then. Even if they did—the most likely suspect being his older sister Laura—Stiles doesn't believe that Derek will have taken it to heart. What they talked about in his Jeep earlier lends credence to this theory, and that's something Stiles would like to change with the scenes they do together.

Come hell or high water, Stiles will help Derek work through as much of his misplaced guilt and inner turmoil as he can, and consistently reminding him that he's good seems like a decent place to start.

He already anticipates Derek fighting him at first, denying the compliments and shrugging off the praise because he thinks he doesn't deserve any of it. Stiles will just have to be persistent—but not too insistent, either. If he pushes too far, it could cause further harm instead of healing. It'll be a long tightrope to walk, but Stiles is prepared.

He's good at this. He's been doing it for a while and not once has he received a complaint from a client or had reason to think he's done something wrong. Sure, it was touch and go at the very beginning, but Stiles is nothing if not a quick learner, and any mistakes he came close to making, he has deftly avoided since.

After zipping up the duffel bag he'll be taking with him to Derek's loft, Stiles tosses it on his bed and moves on to selecting an outfit for himself. He could go with the classic leather pants and harness, but would that be coming on too strong too soon? Possibly, so it's best not to risk it. Stiles stuffs them back into his closet—hidden behind other things in case his Dad looks in there for whatever reason—and goes with something smarter instead.

He selects his best dress shirt, black trousers and completes the outfit with a tie and his smartest-looking shoes before checking his appearance in the mirror on the back of his closet door. He looks quite dapper, if he says so himself, all clean, sharp lines and unwrinkled fabric. It should help to make clear the difference in power between himself and Derek when they begin the scene.

"There. All set," he says to his reflection.

He stares into his own eyes and gives himself one last pep talk before grabbing his bag and phone, heading downstairs and leaving the house.

* * *

In his loft, Derek paces nervously back and forth as he awaits Stiles' arrival. He'd received a text from the seventeen-year-old about ten minutes ago, so he should hear the rumble of Stiles' Jeep in the distance any minute now. He doesn't think he's ever been this nervous. Letting someone inside, allowing them to see the innermost parts of himself, the most vulnerable ones, has never been something that's come easily to Derek, and now he's about to do just that with Stiles. He's going to let Stiles take control of him, tell him what to do, how to do it, and God knows what else. It's daunting.

Derek has another minute to talk himself down from his impending panic before the sound of Stiles' Jeep reaches his ears.

It's time.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"You can do this," Derek reminds himself, looking down at the concrete between his bare feet. "Just remember that you asked for this. You _want_ this."

 _I do,_ he tacks on in his head. _I really do. I want the pressure to go away, and I trust Stiles to help me achieve that._

Instead of focusing on the power exchange itself, Derek concentrates on the fact that it's _Stiles_ he's giving the power to. It helps a great deal to calm his racing heart, and by the time the freight elevator judders to a stop on his floor and he hears Stiles' footsteps approaching the door, Derek feels a bit more confident.

He's ready to face whatever Stiles has planned for them to do tonight.

"Hey, Sourwolf!" the boy greets with a huge grin, after opening the sliding door without knocking.

An entitled action like that would have previously annoyed Derek, but he doesn't mind Stiles letting himself in anymore.

"Hi," Derek responds, staying where he is. His gaze falls to the bag dangling from Stiles' hand. What's in there?

And why so dressy? Derek feels distinctly underdressed in his jeans and old t-shirt.

Stiles closes the distance between them and plants a kiss on Derek's lips. It begins innocently, but then Derek parts his lips on a sigh and Stiles takes advantage, deepening the kiss by slipping his tongue into Derek's mouth. The Alpha can't complain. He wraps an arm around Stiles' back and gives in to it, bringing his other hand up to cup the back of Stiles' neck. He shudders at the taste of him, and again when he feels Stiles' fingers winding through his hair, short nails scratching lightly over his scalp.

"You like that, don't you?" Stiles asks him amusedly, resting their foreheads together.

"S'nice," Derek assents, a bit breathless.

"I think if you had a tail, it'd be wagging up a storm right now, wouldn't it?"

Derek growls quietly, feigning disapproval, but he's too busy enjoying the head massage to do much else.

Stiles chuckles. "That's what I thought."

When the boy moves away, Derek catches himself leaning forward, missing him instantly.

"You're nervous, aren't you?" Stiles asks him, cocking his head to the side.

Derek nods.

"That's understandable. I'll let you in on a little secret: I'm nervous too."

Derek's eyes widen fractionally. "You are?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I just…you always seem so…" Derek worries at his bottom lip for a second before finishing the thought. "You always seem to know what you're doing with all this stuff."

Stiles hums and walks across the room to the sofas and coffee table. He presses a hand to Derek's back on his way past, taking the werewolf with him so that they both end up seated. He sets his duffel bag on the coffee table—it thuds when it hits the wood, meaning that, whatever's inside, it's got a lot of weight to it—before turning sideways and taking one of Derek's hands. He places it on his knee and covers it with his own.

"I'm knowledgeable, I'll give you that," Stiles says. "I know a lot about this stuff and I know I'm good at it. But this is all still new to me too."

Derek supposes that makes sense.

"And besides, this is a lot more important than any scene I've ever done before," Stiles continues.

"It is?"

"Yup. Because it's you and me. It's incredibly important to me that this goes well."

Derek bows his head, looking at their hands instead of into Stiles' eyes. "It's important to me too."

"Then are you good to start?"

Jerking his head up again, Derek swallows with difficulty, and his tongue suddenly seems unwieldy in his mouth. "Already?"

Stiles smirks. "We have a couple things to go over first, but yeah, pretty much now."

"I…yes?"

Stiles' smirk gets wider. "Was that a question, Sourwolf?"

Derek huffs, frustrated with himself. "No," he says, injecting surety into his voice and expression.

"Better. You remember your safewords?"

"Red if I need to stop, yellow to slow down, and green for good."

Stiles looks pleased with him, which makes Derek feel all tingly inside. "Good boy," Stiles says, still watching him closely.

Derek can't hide his reaction to those two words, a brief shudder racking through him from head to toe. Why did Stiles calling him a good boy do that to him? And why did he like it? To Derek, it seems weird for a twenty-four-year-old man to like a seventeen-year-old calling him that, seeing as, if anyone's the boy here, it would be Stiles. It should feel degrading, or disrespectful, or impertinent, but he knows that Stiles didn't mean it that way. He meant it genuinely, and Derek genuinely liked it, his body responding. His blood pumps faster through his veins and his cock twitches between his legs. He doesn't actually swell, but it's a close call.

Apparently, Derek has a kink he was never aware of before.

"Looks like I was right," Stiles mumbles. The words are likely just meant for himself, but Derek's enhanced hearing picks up on them anyway.

"What?" he asks, regaining his composure.

"Don't worry about it. You just confirmed a suspicion of mine, is all."

Derek doesn't dare ask.

"Now, before we dive in, I thought it might be a good idea if I brought along some of the things I could use in the future so you can get used to the idea of them," Stiles says, dragging his duffel to the edge of the coffee table. "That way, if and when we actually reach the point of using them, they won't be scary."

Derek rolls his eyes and wants to say that he's a big, bad Alpha werewolf and he wouldn't be scared of whatever's in Stiles' bag, but he doesn't. It's a defence mechanism.

Unzipping the bag, Stiles shifts away from Derek, to the other end of the sofa, and takes a bunch of stuff out of the bag. He places it all on the cushion between them, and then he has to use a bit of the table too because there's so much of it. Derek's eyes bug out of his head as he takes it all in. He knew distantly that there's a bunch of different things people use when they're doing stuff like he and Stiles are, but it's another thing seeing it in person.

"Already overwhelmed?" Stiles asks him, appearing concerned.

Derek realises he's just sitting there with his mouth hanging open. He snaps it closed. "No," he denies.

"Well, go ahead and look closer, if you want, and I'll answer any questions. If there's something you don't think you'll ever want to use, then tell me."

"Okay."

One by one, Derek works through everything that Stiles brought with him. He spends what's probably too long examining a leather flogger. The grip is comfortable and the tendrils carry a surprising amount of weight to them, leading him to wonder what it would actually be like to be hit with the thing. He recalls spying on Stiles using it on Deucalion, and—no, wait, this doesn't look like the same flogger that Stiles used that evening. Granted, Derek didn't get a _close_ look, but he distinctly remembers that one being brown leather, whereas this one is black.

"Do you have more than one of these things?" Derek enquires, running one of the strips of leather through his fingers.

"I have another one, yeah," Stiles answers. "The one you've got now's new, though."

"Did the old one break or something?"

"No. I just figured that, if I end up flogging you at some point, you'd like me to use one that's not already been used on someone who was planning on killing all of us."

Derek shrugs. "I guess so."

Stiles taps his index finger against his chin and makes a considering noise. "I'm also toying with the idea of getting more of the rest of this stuff too. I'll still use the ones I've got now whenever I'm with a client, but eventually I think it would be good if the stuff I use with you is _only_ used with you."

"Why?"

"The stuff between us is gonna feel much more…intimate…than it ever does with others," Stiles replies. "It just feels right if everything's unique to you."

Derek never thought of it that way, but he's grateful for the consideration and finds himself agreeing. "If you say so."

"You bet I do." Stiles grins for a few seconds, and then his expression relaxes into something more serious. He points to the other stuff Derek hasn't got to yet. "Go on."

Setting down the flogger, Derek focuses on everything else. There's a paddle—which of course causes Derek to think about Stiles paddling or even _spanking_ him—leather cuffs that look worn but secure; two blindfolds, one leather and the other made of soft, red silk; a red ball gag that has a few deep indentations it in from both human teeth and werewolf fangs.

Derek pauses when he gets to this last item and arches an eyebrow at Stiles.

"Yeah." Stiles scratches at the back of his neck. "I'm _definitely_ gonna get you your own one of those. If you're okay being gagged."

"Maybe," Derek says, not committing one way or the other. He picks up the leather cuffs again. "Wouldn't these break?"

"If I just put them on you without any other preparations, then yeah, they would."

"What other preparations?"

"Wolfsbane."

Derek sits up straighter, alarmed.

"Not the type you're thinking of!" Stiles reassures, holding up his palm. "It's not a strain like the one Kate shot you with or anything."

"Oh… Good," Derek accepts, relaxing again.

"All this wolfsbane will do is make you about as weak as the average human man, so you can't get out of the cuffs. It'll also slow down your healing rate, so any pain I inflict—like spanking, paddling or the flogging that you seemed _very_ interested in—would stick around longer. Then, obviously, when the wolfsbane wears off, everything would go back to normal."

"That sounds…"

Stiles waits patiently for Derek to gather his thoughts.

The Alpha honestly doesn't know what his opinion is on being restrained like that. It brings back bad memories of being held captive by Kate—and fuck, would he like her name to never come up again. That was an awful experience, being helpless to do anything until _Scott_ of all people came to his rescue.

But, Derek reminds himself, what Stiles is talking about wouldn't be anything like that. Stiles would restrain him to help him, not hurt him. Well, Stiles might hurt him, but never too much and only if Derek wanted it and explicitly consented beforehand. The boy might even restrain him to bring him pleasure, whenever they end up incorporating sex into their scenes, and Derek trusts Stiles not to abuse any of the power he'll give him.

"Derek? You okay?" Stiles pries, bringing him out of his musings.

"Y-yeah," Derek stammers. He gives a rictus smile. "I was just thinking about what it would be like."

"From how you looked a second ago, I'm gonna guess bad?"

Derek shakes his head ardently. "I'll admit I'm not a hundred percent sure about it, but I'd like to try it at some point."

Stiles takes the cuffs from him and puts them back in the duffel. "Then we will, but since I'm not gonna use these on you today, let's put 'em back in here, huh?"

"Sure."

The last few things Stiles brought with him are sex toys, which is why Derek left them for last. There's a standard-looking silicone dildo, flesh-coloured, and another one that's made of clear glass with small bumps and ridges along the shaft. There's also a butt plug, a cock ring, nipple clamps and—oddly enough—a feather.

"What's this for?" Derek asks, pointing to the latter item.

" _That_ is something I might use if I blindfolded you. I'd use other stuff too." Stiles picks up the feather and runs the tip of it down Derek's bare arm. "Imagine that, but not being able to see where I'm gonna touch you next."

Derek's breath hitches because the feather is soft against his skin. "Feels good," he says.

"That's the point of this little toy."

"Is that everything?"

"Yup. Are you okay to start now?"

Derek takes a deep breath to ready himself and then nods. "I am."

"We'll be starting slow, like I've already said, but just in case, remember your safe words, okay?"

"Okay."

Stiles packs away most of what he brought with him, including all of the sex toys. Seems there won't be any sexual element to their scene tonight. Derek is disappointed, which must show on his face because Stiles tells him his reasons a second later.

"The first time we have sex, I want us to be on an even playing field," the human tells him kindly.

"Oh."

"Plus, I'm still _technically_ a virgin, so I'd like the first time I get naked with another person like that to be without any BDSM in it."

Derek chokes on his own breath. He used to believe that Stiles was a virgin, but with how confident the teenager has been since Derek told him he knew about his secret double life as a Dom, Derek had reconsidered his earlier assessment. Apparently, he was right to begin with, which is daunting and reminds him of how young Stiles still is.

He knew that before, of course, but Stiles' inexperience when it comes to sex is like a slap to the face. Not that there aren't people older than Stiles who are virgins. Derek knows very well that there are, and there's nothing wrong with that. Hell, Derek himself wishes he'd waited longer so Kate wouldn't have taken that from him too. But given how much pressure is put on teenagers to lose their virginities as fast as possible nowadays, the fact that Stiles still has his seems like a lot to Derek. And that Stiles plans on letting _Derek_ be his first, well…

Sex with Stiles isn't some intangible concept anymore. It's going to happen, and Derek doesn't know how he feels about Stiles still being seventeen.

A hand on his shoulder startles him.

"Der?"

Snapping his head up, Derek finds Stiles standing in front of him with a frown. "What?"

"You had that look on your face again."

"You're seventeen," Derek says dumbly. To Stiles, it must seem to come out of nowhere.

"Uh…yeah? Are you only just realising that?"

"No."

Stiles appraises him for a moment, and his countenance shifts to understanding. "I get it. Talking about us having sex freaked you out a bit, didn't it?"

"Maybe," Derek concedes.

"It's no big deal, Sourwolf," Stiles insists. "And if you're worried about my Dad finding out and getting mad or arresting you or something, don't be. My birthday's in a month, and it'll be totally legal. Then we're gonna have sex many times, in many different positions. And we'll incorporate kinky games after the first time too."

Derek is relieved. "I didn't know your birthday was so soon."

"Yup. So you'd better get me a kick-ass present, okay?"

Derek gives a short, breathless laugh when Stiles winks at him. "I'll see what I can do."

"Anyway, scene time?"

"Yeah."

Stiles moves the coffee table sideways, creating a large open space in front of the sofa. "Stand up," he commands when he's done. His demeanour has changed, going from friendly and open to something more stern. It's similar to what Derek witnessed when Deucalion came to the loft, but unlike with Deucalion, Stiles' eyes retain some measure of comfort and kindness.

Obeying without even thinking about it, Derek gets to his feet and faces him.

"Strip down to your underwear."

Balking only briefly at the order, Derek peels off his white t-shirt and reaches for the fastening of his jeans. He sees keen interest in Stiles' gaze now, which has him puffing his chest out with pride.

Stiles smirks at him. "Yes, your body is godlike," he says. "I definitely plan on licking over every inch of it at some point."

Derek nearly trips over his own feet as he pushes his jeans down his legs.

"But that'll wait for another day. Fold your clothes up neatly and put them where you were just sitting."

Once Derek has done so, he stands at his full height again and tries not to react too much when he sees Stiles flick his cinnamon eyes down to his crotch, which is covered only by his black boxer-briefs.

"Get a pillow from your bed and bring it here," Stiles tells him, still brooking no argument.

Derek doesn't even consider giving one, walking hurriedly over to his bed and returning with the aforementioned pillow.

Stiles hums approvingly. "Put it in front of my feet and kneel. Sit back on your heels."

When Derek is in position, he's told to put his hands behind his back and wrap one around the other wrist.

"Keep them there," Stiles tells him.

Part of their contract popping into his head, Derek opens his mouth and says, "Yes, Sir." The title feels odd rolling off of his tongue, but he likes it too.

"Good boy."

 _Fuck_! Derek can't help but shudder again. Is it going to be like that every time Stiles calls him a good boy?

"Now, come here."

Derek is confused for a moment, but then he feels one of Stiles' hands around the back of his neck, gently beckoning him to lean forward. He ends up with his forehead pressed to Stiles' flat but soft stomach, and his eyes close of their own volition when Stiles squeezes the back of his neck with his hand.

"You're going to stay like this for a while," Stiles murmurs, running the fingers of his other hand through Derek's hair like he did earlier. "Just relax. Let your mind go empty."

Easier said than done, Derek thinks, even with how nice it feels. But then Stiles squeezes his neck again and he suddenly goes boneless. He'd probably fall if Stiles wasn't keeping him upright with his own body.

Like Stiles instructed, Derek stops thinking about everything altogether. He simply kneels there and breathes, not even smelling the musk that fills his nostrils with each slow breath as Stiles' arousal spikes slightly. He doesn't think about how close his face is to Stiles' dick, or about the fact that he's nearly naked while the teenager is stilled fully dressed in slick-looking clothes. He just exists. He's a willing servant for his Dom, perfectly submissive, his body following easily as Stiles begins to rock him from side to side and tugs lightly on his hair.

Eventually, Derek comes out of his current state and registers that Stiles is talking to him.

"That's it, come back. There's a good boy…"

When he feels a particularly sharp tug on his hair, Derek leans backward again and peers up at Stiles' face to see Stiles smiling softly down at him.

"How was that?"

It's hard work getting his brain to work enough to speak again. "What?" Derek asks dumbly.

"I'm asking how your first experience with a scene was," Stiles clarifies, his smile turning indulgent.

"I don't…haven't we just started?"

To Derek's shock, Stiles shakes his head. "Nope. Look outside."

Derek does so, squinting out through the loft's large windows, and his shock only increases when he sees how high in the sky the moon is. "How?"

"You're very easy to send into subspace, Sourwolf," Stiles tells him. "It's easy to lose track of time while you're under."

It's then that Derek notices the ache in his leg muscles. "How long?"

"About an hour," Stiles responds. "Come on. Let's get you up."

Derek takes both of Stiles' hands and groans as he's helped to his feet. He stretches a bit, working out the kinks in his muscles from staying in one position for so long. There's a lot of aching and cracking of bones, but he can't bring himself to mind. As strange as it is that so much time passed while he was unaware of it, it felt really good when he was under. He didn't concern himself with any of his issues or problems.

He just existed, and it was freeing as hell.

Stiles leads Derek over to his bed, pulls back the sheets and has him lie down. He tucks him in, which should make Derek feel as if he's being treated like a little kid, but it doesn't. It just shows Stiles' care.

"You should get some sleep," Stiles suggests quietly, his Dom demeanour pretty much gone now.

"But…"

"I'll stay until you're actually asleep," Stiles assures him, sitting on the side of the bed. "Or…"

"Or?" Derek prompts, the word slightly slurred because, now that Stiles suggested it, he does feel tired.

"If I get Scott to cover for me with my Dad, I could stay here for the night, if you want," Stiles finishes. "Would you like that?"

Derek nods immediately, not caring that he's not acting strong right now. Even though Stiles wouldn't leave while he was still awake, the thought of him leaving at all tonight has unease blossoming in Derek's gut. He feels stupidly vulnerable after coming out of subspace, and he'd much prefer it if his Dom stayed.

"Alright then. I'll go get washed up. I'll be right back."

Stiles leaves Derek with a kiss to his forehead, and then he disappears into the bathroom. Derek's eyelids flutter closed as he listens to the sound of running water, and he gets very close to slipping under by the time the bed dips next to him.

He feels Stiles' arms around him and warm breaths on the back of his neck, and then he's out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very short and simple scene for Derek's first. I thought it was appropriate. What was your favourite part of this chapter? I'm always excited to hear from you guys. :)
> 
> Stay tuned for the next chapter, in which Derek and Stiles explore more.
> 
> **P.S. Don't forget to subscribe to me to be notified when my future fics go live, which will all be Sterek. And please check out my past fics if you haven't already and are interested.**


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